Karaoke Queen
by fen-san
Summary: Russia and England do karaoke, drink tea and discover that maybe things aren't always quite what they seem.


Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia and its associated characters do not belong to me. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.

Karaoke Queens

It was a pretty ordinary evening. They'd all finished the world meeting and headed to the nearest bar. Since it was in France there was a woman murdering Patricia Kaas' 'Mon Mec a Moi'on the karaoke machine while Germany ignored the way Italy was practically wrapped around him as he told France an anecdote about the new trick one of his dogs had learnt. His anecdote continued as the next singer stood up to take a turn at the microphone, only to be interrupted by a male voice beginning to sing lugubriously and France gasping. 'Mon dieu!'

Germany turned to see Russia stood calmly in front of the karaoke machine, microphone in hand and his usual serene expression on his face. 'Would you believe, Lord of mercy? Would you be so good Lord? I wanna love her now, and I wanna feel that now with all... all of those kisses and sweet embraces.'

There was a bit of a commotion and people shuffled, elbowed aside by a manic figure. England had lost his shirt and was ruddy-faced, clearly three sheets to the wind. He slung an arm around a part of Russia, aiming for his shoulders, but missing. 'Here am I, lost and forgotten for this cruel, cruel time when I'm first time in love'

The pair of them were immensely drunk, normal enough for England, but practically unheard of for the much larger country, who was swaying in time with the rhythm of the song, waving a bottle of vodka that he occasionally touched against England's bottle of rum. As Russia asked what should he do with the photo England chimed in with a gleeful 'throw it into the fire!', his manic tenor contrasting surprisingly well with Russia's lugubrious basso tones.

There was a moment of silence as they held the final note of the song together, then England collapsed into Russia and started snoring. Everyone stayed still for a moment, waiting to see what would happen. Russia put the microphone down with the exaggerated care of the very drunk, looked at the little nation for a second and them scooped him up under one arm and staggered out of the bar. No one dared stop him.

Russia shifted in his sleep, his arms tightening around his pillow, which was warm and pliant in his arms. That was not normal. He opened his eyes, seeing blond hair out of the corner of his vision and whipped his head around, wincing at the spike of agony the motion punched through his head. His own groan was joined by another male voice groaning in pain.

Arthur opened his eyes and mouth to curse at the lout who'd woken him up so inconsiderately. His eyes met with wide purple ones and he felt the bottom of his world drop out. Had he slept with Russia? A strange noise wrenched itself from his throat.

Russia tilted his aching head and considered the mostly-naked, very dishevelled England, who was staring at his wide-eyed and looked to be on the verge of hyperventilation. Now this brought back memories. 'Good morning, England.' His eyes tilted closed as he felt the smile pulling at his face. 'It has been a long time since any nation shared my bed. Would you like tea?'

Well, he'd never been one to turn down a cuppa. 'Please.' The response came out as more of a squeak than he'd intended.

When Russia came back with two mugs of steaming tea they lay back against huge white pillows and sipped it, listening to the rain pattering against the windows of the hotel. Arthur inhaled the steam and felt muscles relax, even if the sick pounding at his temples refused to abate - but then that was hardly an alien feeling. Beside him the bed shifted and a happy sigh floated up. After he finished Russia gently took the mug from him.

Little England was relaxing, his head lolling back against the pillows and Russia observed him covertly from under his eyelashes. Russia sipped his own tea and enjoyed the fact that the usual silence he existed in was broken by small noises of another's breathing. It was nice and when the other man finished drinking he gently took the mug from him. He placed both mugs on the bedside table and considered the situation for a moment.

Arthur was starting to drift back to sleep when a large, cool arm slid adroitly under the small of his back and he was carefully gathered into a sleepy embrace. England cricked his eyes slightly open, but his head was gently tucked under Russia's chin and the larger nation's breathing slowed into sleep again. It seemed like a good idea and England followed suit, curling in on himself and falling back to sleep.

Housekeeping knocking on, then opening the door woke them. The stout, middle-aged lady looked a little surprised, then scurried out. The two nations jerked awake, Arthur looked at his watch and muttered a curse word under his breath. 'We're meant to be checking out within the next half hour!'

Russia watched England leap out of bed and scrambling around to try and find any of his clothes that hadn't been abandoned in the bar. He was a funny little nation.

'What are looking at? Get a move on Russia, isn't your 'plane in just over two hours?' That detail galvanised Russia into throwing his clothes on and stuffing his belongings into his overnight bag, mumbling in Russian the list of things he'd need to keep on his person for the flight.'

'You forgot to mention your 'plane ticket, Russia.' Arthur pointed out, looking even untidier than he had the previous night as he held out the envelope Russia had put his tickets in.

'Da! Thank-you, when we are booked out would you like to have breakfast in the airport cafe?' Russia didn't want little England to go, he didn't want to go back to his life alone and feared again.

Arthur looked up at Russia, forgetting to feel self-conscious about the fact that his shirt had gone missing in the pub. On the surface Russia looked the same creepy-tranquil bastard he'd always been, but something felt different. Blossom seemed to agree, the tiny fairy looking almost pityingly at the vast nation. 'Alright. I'll meet you at the reception desk.' He checked he had everything (such as it was) and headed for the door. He turned, hand on the doorknob and gave Russia a smile, it felt stiff and awkward on his face and he blushed. 'See you later.'

Russia stifled a chuckle at the other's typical awkwardness and finished his packing with a little more care. He checked both the room and his own appearance before leaving.

Both France and Germany had been sat chatting in the hotel foyer, not-so-subtly waiting to see if England had actually made it back. Russia came downstairs with his suitcase looking calm and unruffled, as if he hadn't drunk several litres of vodka the previous evening. England wasn't with him. France and Germany exchanged looks and after a heated exchange of non-verbal communication Germany stood up.

'Guten tag, Russia. Have you seen England today?' Germany could feel France being too unnerved even to make ein teensy weensy pass at Russia.

Russia smiled back at Germany, his pale purple eyes sinking shut in that dreamy expression that so unnerved everyone. 'Ah, little England could be anywhere...' It was too much fun irritating the so boring staid Germany.

'Do you have any idea where?' Germany tried again, gathering his patience.

Russia regarded him and Germany looked back steadily. They were of a height and Germany was patient. He did not waver under that clinically curious gaze. Russia tiled his head a little and a smidge of life sparked in his stare. Germany mentally gritted his teeth at that spark of merriment. 'I last saw him going to his room so that he could check out on time.'

Germany blinked completely wrong-footed by the readily given piece of information. 'Thank-you. I was wondering if I would have to wait until out next world meeting to return his belongings to him.' He held up a neatly folded shirt, tie and jacket that he'd gathered from the floor of the bar. A single shoe lay incongruously on the top of the pile. Russia noticed that it had been meticulously polished.

Russia laughed. He didn't believe that was Germany's only reason for asking, but the boring potato-nation looked so funny and stern. 'It is nice to have such concern for a comrade, Germany.'

Footsteps and fast breathing down the main staircase dissolved the building tension. England dashed past them at top speed in a most undignified manner, a pyjama sleeve trailing out of his suitcase. 'See, he is not at all dead or molested!' Russia caught France's collar as he sidled past in that sinuous way of his. 'And he will stay unmolested. Da?'

'Oh, hello Russia. Are you ready?' Russia had to blink. England had agreed to breakfast, but a lot of people found reasons not to keep the engagements they'd made with him. Russia nodded, trying not to show his surprise, but England just looked him up and down and cocked one of those hilariously enormous eyebrows as if to ask who he thought he was fooling. Russia had to smile a little sheepishly as they walked out of the hotel and off in search of edible airport food. It had been too long since someone had wanted to be his friend.

FI


End file.
